


In Love and Irons

by shutterbug



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Backstory, Canon Compliant, Episode Related, F/M, Handcuffs, Headcanon, Light Bondage, Smut, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 05:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16866961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutterbug/pseuds/shutterbug
Summary: After her men discover three skeletal remains in the wharfside tenements, Jane calls on Edmund at Leman Street and convinces him to follow her home.Set after the intro of S2E8, "Our Betrayal: Part 2."Infinite thanks to my beta, GrumpyQueer, who edits like a pro. I am so incredibly grateful for all your fine-tuning and advice.Feedback is ♥





	In Love and Irons

Jane arrived at Leman Street, the images of blackened, rotted skeletons still present in her mind. Captain Jackson, the American, stood at the booking desk, and turned toward her the moment she entered.

“Miss Cobden. Councillor, rather.” He waved his hand. “Whatever you prefer to be called.”

“Good morning, Captain,” she replied, amused, despite herself, by his attempt at politeness and decorum. “I need to see Inspector Reid.”

“He’s in his office. I’ll take ya to him.” The Captain stepped to the stairs, and she followed.

As she climbed, she forced away flashes of dust-covered remains. Human skulls, covered in a layer of dingy grit. Once _people_. Individuals. Citizens of this city. She might have served them, listened to them,  _met_ with them, if they had lived.

She stopped on the stairs and seized the handrail. Bile rose in her throat.

The Captain cupped her elbow. “Y’all right, Miss?”

“Yes,” she said, inhaling a short breath. “Yes. Thank you.”

He raised his eyebrows, but released her, continuing on to Edmund’s office. They conversed briefly as they walked, but their exchange halted when they reached Edmund’s door.

When the Captain—without a knock or preamble—threw open the door, Edmund lifted his head with surprise. “ _Jack_ son, _what_ —”

“You’ll want to see this visitor, Reid.”

The initial annoyance in Edmund’s eyes softened as he met Jane’s gaze. He stood, his chair squeaking on the floor.

The Captain lingered at the threshold.

“Thank you, Captain,” Edmund said, his eyes still directed toward Jane. “Uh, Miss Cobden, how can I help you?”

Jane took a step closer to Edmund’s desk. “My men and I—just now—discovered three bodies in the wharfside tenements,” she said, silently berating herself for the unsteadiness in her voice. “They have been long dead. I have come to report them to you, Inspector.”

“I...of course.” Edmund straightened himself into a tall, authoritative posture. “Jackson, please ask Sergeant Artherton, on my behalf, to dispatch constables to the wharfside tenements with the orders that they recover the remains—the three remains?” He turned toward her for verification.

“Yes, three sets of human remains,” she said. This time, her voice remained steady.

Edmund nodded. “The three remains and have them brought here, so you, Jackson, may examine them.”

Without argument, Captain Jackson left the room.

Jane stood, her feet frozen, somewhat unsure of herself.

“Jane,” Edmund whispered. “Are you…” He rounded his desk and reached for her. His hand curled gently around her arm. “Are you well? Can I help you in any other way?”

She closed her eyes and tried to absorb the warmth of his touch, but the deathly sight of the morning invaded her mind, and she pulled away. “Edmund, I—” She forcefully exhaled. “I have, in this city, seen my share of horrors, but I was…” She paused to locate the correct word. “Unprepared for this one.” With a shake of her head, she breathed a sad laugh. “I marvel at your strength, Edmund. I cannot imagine how you cope with such scenes, day after day, in the course of your work.”

“It is not always easy. But it is necessary. There are ways to cope, unique to everyone. It may be difficult, but you will find yours.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor. Trepidation rose within her as her mind leapt to the ways in which one might cope. A needle penetrating the delicate skin of an arm. A pair of lips shaping themselves around the end of a bottle. A man’s hips pressing forward and pushing apart pale, naked legs.

She closed her eyes. Heat rushed to her center.

Edmund’s voice returned her to the present. “Jane.”

When she opened her eyes, again, she found him a short distance away from her. His body blocked the sunlight from his window and allowed her to see, unobscured, the concern in his face.

“Jane,” he started, wetting his lips. “I mean to imply no weakness about you, but you seem…” He hesitated, and released a breath. “Shaken. And I would see that you were all right.” He leaned down until their eyes were level. “Tell me, what can I do?”

She watched as he silently implored her for a response. Then she moved forward, pressing her hands to his back and her body to his front. Desire spread through her—low across her stomach, over her hips, down her throat.

Edmund’s body tensed with surprise, but soon slackened. He wrapped her within the loose circle of his arms.

She turned her ear to his chest and listened to his heart, felt the expansion of his ribcage as he drew breath. Her own heart beat faster when she lifted her head and pressed her lips to his neck, to the pulse that leapt with life.

Her lips brushed his jawline. “I want to go home.” She slid her hands over his shoulders, up the back of his neck, and into his hair. “And I want you to follow me, Edmund.”

When she raised her eyes to his face, she saw him forcibly swallow.

“Perhaps,” he said. “You could stay here until you’ve...recovered. I can fetch Captain Jackson and then—”

Without warning, Edmund’s door flew open with such force that it ricocheted off the wall.

Jackson barreled into the room. “Already here, Reid.” He stopped beside them and presented Jane with a glass of clear liquid. “You looked as though you were in need of some pharmaceutical assistance, Councillor.”

Jane caught Edmund’s reaction—he quirked an eyebrow and glared at Jackson with an expression of unmistakable and almost comical hostility that Jane rushed to respond and set Edmund’s mind at ease.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said. “This is exactly what I needed.” With one hand, she accepted Jackson’s tonic and, with the other, grasped Edmund’s fingers. The muscles in his face and shoulders relaxed. “This is indeed rejuvenating. Thank you again,” she said, raising the glass toward Jackson.

“It’s my pleasure. Plenty where that came from, should you need more.” Then, with a glance at Edmund, he said, “You take care of her.” With a nod at Jane, he sidled out of the room and closed the door.

Jane drained the glass and set it on Edmund’s desk.

He stepped around her and stood at his door. “Can I call you a hansom?”

“No. Thank you.” She felt as though she glided with more ease, without as heavy a weight on her mind. She noticed Edmund’s careful gaze on her when she brushed past him. A jolt of excitement passed through her. “I understand if you must remain here for a little while,” she said. “But I do hope you can get away soon. I hope to—” She stopped abruptly and offered him a closed-mouth grin. “I am bold. You know this.”

“Indeed,” he said, a soft, affectionate smile tugging at his mouth. “I do.”

“Well, then.” She raised herself onto her tip-toes, holding his lapels for support, and whispered into his ear, “I hope to open more than my door for you, Edmund, and take you into more than my home.”

His eyes closed as a broken sound escaped him. His chest rose and fell as he drew shallower, faster breaths.

She waited to speak until he met her eyes. “Will you follow me?”

“I will. As soon as I can.”

On her way out of the station house, she nodded her thanks to Captain Jackson, who answered with a wink.

~~~

Edmund’s firm knock resounded through her home shortly after she had arrived. She stood in her bedroom, removing the pins from her hair, which cascaded over her shoulders in a dark, thick wave.

She’d left the front door unlocked. She grinned when she heard it open and close.

Edmund’s voice carried up the stairs. “Jane?”

Her heart thundered as she removed the last of her clothes. She hurried to cover herself with a long silk dressing gown as Edmund’s footsteps pounded up the stairs. His voice tore through the house.

“Jane? _Jane?_ ”

Fear covered his face when he entered her bedroom. His eyes darted everywhere. To every corner. Under every chair and table. To the window. The curtains. He threw open her wardrobe and, when he found only her clothes, he braced his arm on the doorframe and let his head fall to his chest.

Jane approached him with caution. She whispered his name and spread her hand over the center of his back.

He turned to face her, his fear not yet gone. “Jane, I…” he said, scanning her eyes. “I heard no answer. Your door was opened, and your coat rack knocked over, and I...I thought perhaps you…” He squeezed his eyes shut. A pink flush of embarrassment colored his cheeks. His breath left him like a hurricane.

Her chest constricted. Guilt mingled with the air that filled her lungs. With only the tips of her fingers, she touched his cheekbone and felt the heat that gathered there. “Good God, I should have known. I’m so sorry, Edmund,” she said, breathing a half-laugh. “I’m all right. I’m well, Edmund. I’m all right.”

He raised his eyes to her, still wide and alert, as if he searched her for indications of falsehood.

“I promise,” she said, drawing closer to him. “Edmund. I left the door open for _you._ I knocked the rack over in my carelessness and preoccupation with...other priorities. But I am all right. Better now”—she removed his bowler from his head with one hand and, with the other, ran her fingers through his hair to calm him—“that you are here with me.”

For several moments, he met her gaze. His eyes wandered over her face and body, noticing her changed appearance. Tension drained from his shoulders. His expression softened. “My God,” he whispered. He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger, followed it to its end. “You are…” He released a breath and shook his head. “Stunning.”

She smiled.

“Oh. I nearly forgot,” he said, stepping backwards.

She eyed him with confusion, watching him turn and disappear from the room. When he returned, he held a modest bouquet of flowers—white and lavender blooms sprouting from his fist.

“I…” he paused to breathe. He extended the flowers toward her. “I dropped them on my way upstairs.” He frowned at the bundle. ”One has lost its petals. I believe I trampled them, which is not, I assure you, a reflection of my feelings for you or—”

She interrupted him as she accepted the bouquet. “They are lovely, Edmund.” She crossed the room, dropped the stems into her bedside water pitcher—a makeshift vase—and returned to him. “They match my gown. Thank you,” she said, then cupped his face and kissed his cheek.

Her hand fell to his shoulder, down his chest, and to his hand. She guided him to sit on the edge of her bed. Her heart beat with an irregular rhythm as she climbed onto the mattress and knelt behind him. Ducking her head, she let her lips hover over his temple as she spoke. “It is touching.” Grasping his lapels, she drew his coat back and over his shoulders. “That you were worried about me.”

“I…” His coat landed on the back of a nearby chair. “Of course. I—”

“You are always”—she removed the pin from his tie—“on the lookout for danger.” Unknotting it, she threw the tie aside, and began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. “Are you not?”

“My life and work has taught me to be alert for the tell-tale signs of it, yes.”

His waistcoat missed the chair, landing just shy of it on the floor.

“And,” she said, a playful note sneaking into her voice as her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt. “What danger do you see in me?”

Pulling Edmund’s shirt away from his body, she noticed the tension in his arms and shoulders. Her gaze passed over his left shoulder, over his raised, pink scar tissue. Her memory replayed an earlier conversation between them: his painful recollection of the source of his injury, the source of his loss, his guilt, his failure. Now, he remained silent.

Her stomach knotted with sympathy for him, but she maintained her lively tone. “Perhaps that I render you speechless?” she posited, gratified when he smiled over his shoulder and breathed a soft laugh.

She stepped off the bed and rounded its corner to stand in front of him, between his parted knees. His heart beat under her palm when she pressed her hand flat to his chest. “Lie down, Edmund.”

He kept his eyes on her face as he pushed himself backwards and lay propped up on his elbows. She stayed at the foot of the bed and silently removed his shoes, his socks. His trousers remained, and she crawled onto the bed and straddled him. He fell back fully as she settled over his hips. Fingers spread wide, he curved his hands around the sides of her thighs, slid them over the silk fabric. He held her hips steady and pressed himself against her, hard and hot. Hot, despite the fabric that covered him.

Desperation rose within her—a need to look upon him, touch him, kiss him wherever she liked. Driven by her desire, she reached down, wrapped her hands around his wrists, and raised his hands above his head. With her hands and her hips, she pressed him down and met his open mouth with a series of short, frantic kisses. She slipped her tongue past his lips to taste him and felt him swell and harden further. His reactions roused her nerve, and she released one of his wrists to reach underneath her pillow. Her next kiss pulled a moan from the back of his throat. His voice nearly masked the _clink_ of metal, but the sound carried and prompted him to break away and find the source of the noise.

In her hand, she held a set of irons.

He raised his eyebrows and stared at her with open astonishment. “Jane, how...when did you…”

She could nearly see inside his head, see his brain trying to work out what had happened beneath his very nose. She smiled, proud of herself. “Your Captain,” she said. “I asked and he provided. The tonic was a distraction, although not unwelcome.” She let the shackles lay near his head while she descended his body to unfasten his trousers.

“And did he not ask what you might do with them?”

“I believe his exact words were, “Please tell me you want them for some indecent purpose.” The memory of the exchange made her smile as she stripped Edmund of the rest of his clothes. “I assured him that I had naught but your pleasure in mind.”

“I see.”

Jane watched as Edmund closed his eyes, giving her a moment to indulge hers. She stretched out beside him and took in his body, naked to her for the first time. Unclothed, he seemed even more solid, present. She noticed the subtle movements in his body. One followed another, overlapped with each other, all of them visible to her. His torso rose and fell with his breaths. His eyelashes fluttered as he opened his eyes. His broad shoulders tapered down to his hips, which tilted barely upward—the tiniest movement—as if in anticipation of her. Above his head, his hands flexed. She could see the bones and tendons of his wrists shift under skin.

She looked down his full frame before she returned her attentions to his face. She heard the arousal in her own voice when she spoke. “Do you not approve?”

“Of what? That you...conspired to pilfer equipment from my station house or that you plan to use them to bind me to your headboard and have your way with me?”

“At the moment, I am more concerned with the latter.”

“Mm,” he hummed, looking toward the ceiling. “I fear I would be rewarding the former if I agreed to the latter. But—” He paused and turned his head to meet her eyes. “I shall let you have your way,” he said, his grin a silent but playful dare.

He flinched when the cool metal touched his skin, but otherwise stayed remarkably still as she shackled him to her headboard.

She knelt beside him. Heat rolled off him, transferred to her skin as she trailed her middle finger down the center of his body. She drew a curved line over the outside of his hip. Then the inside of thigh. She watched, smiled, as his arms flexed. Abdominals tensed. Eyes closed.

“Tell me, Edmund,” she said, pleased at how quickly his eyes opened. She climbed over him, one knee on either side of his hips, but she did not bend. Save for the touch of her knees to his hips, she did not allow their bodies to meet. She knelt with a tall, straight back and watched his face whilst she moved her hands to the cord of her gown. “How do you—in a way unique to yourself, as you said—cope with the strains of your profession?”

He tilted his head. Frustration flashed in his eyes, but did not displace his open desire.

“What respite and comforts do you prefer to seek in your limited spare time?”

His mouth opened, as if he intended to answer, but he only breathed heavily. He searched her face and finally whispered, thick and low, “Madam, you...led me to believe you had more _pleasurable_ intentions. But it appears your  _true_ purpose is to test on me a...method of torture.”

“Torture, Inspector? No,” she teased. “I merely asked a question.” She ensured that he met her eyes before she untied the cord of her gown and slowly opened its ruffled front to reveal herself to him.

He stared at her. He wet his lips as his eyes flew over her bare form. She allowed him a moment to look freely before she leaned over him, steady on her hands and knees.

Her lips nearly touched his as she whispered, “Would you deny me, Edmund, a simple answer? I only ask to learn more of you, before you learn more of me.”

Air burst from his mouth. Shaky breaths across her face. “I...have developed means of...distraction,” he said, each word a clear strain on him.

When he shut his eyes and offered no further explanation, she prompted him. “Sport?” She braced herself on one arm and, with her freed hand, traced a path down his chest.

“No. No, I—” He jerked and inhaled sharply when she trailed her hand over the side of his ribs. “It never ap _pealed_ —”

Jane smiled at the heightened pitch and force of his voice, his uncontrollable twitch.

He cleared his throat. “Appealed to me as much as it might to others.”

“Well, I confess myself fascinated, Edmund,” she said, her voice full of affection and amusement.

His eyebrows drew close to one another as he searched her face. She brushed his side with quick feather-touches, causing him to squirm under her. She increased the pressure, rewarded with a stream of boyish, little yelps leapt from his throat.

When she stopped, she could not suppress her smile. “Fascinated that you are, it would seem”—she breathed a laugh—“ _quite_ ticklish.”

She renewed her attack. The force of her own smile made her cheeks ache.

“Oh, God,” he barely whispered, breathless, his words punctuated by leftover giggles. “Jane, stop.”

She met his eyes. Her hand hovered just above his body.

His smile faded as he stared at her. For a few moments, he wordlessly pleaded with her. Then, a desperate, shaky whisper floated past his lips. “Jane. Please.”

His words—his voice—sent a shock through her and made her heart quicken. She suddenly ached for him. And, with her eyes still on him, she responded with a tiny nod.

Anticipation seized her, constricting her throat. She reached between them and touched him. Wrapped her hand around him. Bent her hips, setting him at her entrance.

She braced herself on her elbows and cupped his head with both hands—fingers in his hair, thumbs high on his cheekbones. Her eyes flitted to his mouth. She kissed him—deep, open, hot—as she took him inside her.

His hum vibrated into her mouth, and she echoed it. When she sank down fully upon him, she broke away, only to trail kisses over his chin and down his neck. She moved her hips in a fast, wanton rhythm.

“Mm, Jane. Slower.”

She stopped. She need not have looked beyond the tension in his body—his flexed muscles, his strained voice—to see the benefit of his request. She shifted her hips to afford him only a shallow reach, then resumed with a slow rhythm. “Books, then?”

“What?” He blinked at her.

“Not sport, you said.” She continued her slow pace. “For your distraction. Books, then?

He smiled softly and nodded. “Yes. Most often.”

“And less often?”

“Jane, I hear enough of my own voice every day. At this moment—and...I hope in many more moments in the future—I would much rather hear yours.”

For several seconds, she searched his eyes. He met her with an earnest stare that seemed to touch the depths of her. Heat pooled in her cheeks. Rushed over her chest and down her body.

He nearly slipped out of her when she lurched forward and reached for his wrists. She fumbled with the irons, the metal heavy in her hands. Edmund’s chuckle sent a flush of embarrassment to her face—and doubled its heat. But, on her second attempt, she opened the shackles and released him.

His hands found her waist first. He urged her down and raised his hips to push all the way inside of her. As his hands started to wander, she retook control of their pace and moved on him with steady, deep strokes. He touched her with a tender fervor. One moment, he pressed her to him with such force that he nearly squeezed the breath out of her. The next, he caressed almost every part of her and placed soft, open-mouthed kisses on her face.

His intensity waned when she stretched herself over him and breathed his name. She slid her arms underneath his back. Her hands rested flat under his shoulder blades. He returned her embrace, one arm around her waist, the other extended up her back.

She closed her eyes, and drew him closer. Drowning in sensation. His warm, firm body never stilled—under her, around her, deep inside her. Fiery sparks of pleasure stemmed from his contact—where he touched her, where they were joined—and extended to the far reaches of her. She shuddered. Moaned into his shoulder.

But her breath hitched when his lips brushed her ear. “Jane,” he whispered. “Jane.” He repeated her name with each downward stroke. Repeated her name until she braced herself above him and occupied his mouth with a kiss.

When she ended the kiss, she pushed herself up and leaned back to alter her position. To her excitement, she felt exposed to him—arms braced behind her, her breasts pushed forward, her knees parted so widely that they no longer touched his hips. She found her own pleasure as she rolled her hips with quick, small thrusts. Her head fell back. Hot tension built within her, intensifying as Edmund rocked in opposition to her. He struck the most sensitive part of her. Made her ache for her release. Made her ache for his.

Her rhythm faltered as the pressure within her crested and broke over her. She curled forward, into Edmund’s arms. She moaned and panted into the curve of his neck as she shook with her pleasure. Still under a fuzzy haze, she sensed his lips on her shoulder. Felt his hands slide down her back. Hold her hips. Keep her steady.

Her haze lifted when he moved. When he withdrew, then thrust back inside her. Tension quickly mounted in his body. Within seconds, his breaths rushed out of him, accompanied by low, soft grunts. He clutched at her hips. Squeezed his eyes shut. Pumped into her hard and fast. Exertion deepened the flush in his face. His brow creased.

Jane focused on his face. She noticed how his bottom lip dropped as he drew breath. How he silently formed, but did not speak, her name. Her heart clenched. “Oh, Edmund,” she whispered. “Edmund, let go.” She kissed his jaw. Then his ear. “Let me see you let go, darling.”

As if prompted by her words, he arched beneath her. His voice filled her ears with a loud, gruff groan. She watched, enamored, as he shuddered and pulsed with his release. Then she covered him, kissed him, and whispered her love into his ear. He stilled, and she kissed his temple. His eyes found hers. His hands drifted over her back while he looked at her. She offered him a small, fond smile as she swept his hair from his forehead.

With her chest full of care and love for him, she held him. She curled her arms behind his neck and around his shoulders. Within a moment, his arms encircled her waist. He squeezed her once, pressed a kiss to the side of her head, slackening his hold again.

She moved only when her hips began to ache, stretching out beside him. He stayed on his back and pulled the bedclothes over them.

With her head on his shoulder, she felt his arm come around her, his hand slide into her hair.

“You do not move to leave,” she said.

“Not just yet.” His hand abandoned her hair and curved around her hip. His thumb absently stroked her hipbone as he added, “You had unanswered enquiries, did you not?”

The corners of her mouth twitched with a smile. “I believe I did. Whether or not you occupy all of your spare time with books.”

“Ah, yes.”

“Well?”

“No, not all.”

“What, then? Kite-flying?”

A robust chuckle rolled out of him. “ _Kite_ -flying?” He gathered her closer to him and kissed her forehead. “No. No, my...father attended the Royal Academy of Music. And, though it may not have been reflected in his employment record, he was a talented man. As it so happens, he passed some of his skill with one instrument in particular...to me. I have not played for some time, however.”

She slowly traced the line of his collarbone. “If I was fascinated before, I admit I am even more so now. Tell me, which instrument?”

He hesitated, unraveling himself from her to turn to his side and prop himself on his elbow. He waited for her to meet his eyes before he spoke. “This a well-kept secret, you understand, and I would like it to remain so.”

“Of course, Edmund.”

He intertwined their hands that rested between them and dropped his head to direct his words toward the mattress. “My father played piano, violin, and cello,” he said. “But I, only the last.”

“I confess I am fascinated but not wholly surprised,” she said. “I have heard of the connection within the brain between music and patterns. Analysis. A skill at which you excel.”

He looked at her with a soft expression.

“What has kept you from the cello?” she asked.

“I no longer possess one. My father allowed me to keep his—borrow it—even after I left my parent’s home. But my mother asked for its return upon my father’s death. I never replaced it.”

“I am afraid I cannot offer you one.”

“No, no.” He waved away the idea. “That’s not what I—”

“I do, however, have a piano.”

“Oh,” he said, interest and surprise in his voice. “Do you play?”

“I do,” she said, smiling brightly. “It is a shame you cannot access a cello, Edmund. We could play a duet.”

Tilting his head, he grinned at her. “Did we not just?” He kissed the corner of her still-smiling mouth before he said, “I must return to the station.”

She turned onto her back and watched him dress.

“My Sergeant has returned,” he said, buttoning his trousers.

“I am glad of it.”

“As am I.” He slipped an arm inside his shirt. “Upon his return, he brought with him a man we had hoped to find.”

“How fortunate that he has been found.”

“Yes, but we had hoped to find him alive.”

She frowned. When she raised her eyes to him, he was focused on his waistcoat.

“Captain Jackson, by now, has likely concluded his autopsy of the man,” he said, donning his coat. “If that were not the case, I may be tempted to stay a while longer.”

“I understand, Edmund.”

He nodded. After a short pause, he strode to her mirror, his tie in hand. “You will...be in your office today?”

“As soon as possible, yes.”

“I cannot help but wonder if all of these murders are not linked, somehow,” he mused, almost to himself, as he fixed his tie. “But, even if they are not”—he turned to face her—“I shall keep you informed of any developments concerning the three remains found by your men this morning.”

He came to stand beside the bed, fully dressed. His chest expanded as he drew a deep breath and leaned down toward her. She shrieked with surprise when he threw aside the bedclothes with a flourish. The air chilled her exposed skin, but her shiver resulted from the heat of Edmund’s mouth. He left a trail of warm, tender kisses over her hip, her breasts, her neck. When he brushed his lips over her stomach, she flinched. To her utter dismay, uncontrollable giggles erupted from her mouth.

“ _Ah_! It would appear _I_ am not the _on_ ly one who is ticklish,” he said, his tone full of smug delight. He smiled broadly. “I shall remember.”

Her cheeks burned, and she scrambled under the bedclothes to deter him from further action.

She braced herself for mischief when he leaned over her. But he reached above her head and retrieved the irons from where they lay.

“I must not forget these,” he said, jingling them like a toy. With a final kiss on her cheek, he took his leave of her.

~~~

When she arrived at her office later that day, she briefly set aside her work. Papers, and a payment of a personal nature were couriered to W.E. Hill & Sons, London luthiers. By lunchtime, she smiled warmly and admired the shape and rich color of her newly-purchased, hand-crafted cello.

**Author's Note:**

> I am toying with the idea of following this up with one or two other fics/sections. But they'd go a bit AU, and I'm not yet sure how I feel about that. Anyway, thank you so much for reading. I truly hope you enjoyed. (I did.) :)


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